


The One Time Ron Learned Something Before Hermione Did

by slashedsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humour, M/M, Oblivious!Ron, POV Outsider, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashedsilver/pseuds/slashedsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron expects Eighth Year to be more of the same—classes, homework, new professors. He never expects it to bring new revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Time Ron Learned Something Before Hermione Did

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lot of prompts for the Welcome Back to Hogwarts challenge at hd_writers. 
> 
> Thanks to stephaniejo84 for the lovely beta! Also, obliqueo for your incredibly useful comments, and dracogotgame for the cheerleading and encouragement ♥

Ron's always been told he's not the most observant person around.

He knows this. He doesn't notice a lot of things that others do. There are times when he misses the small things—like so-and-so changed something (tiny) about her appearance, or such-and-such has been moved or changed its colour completely or ceased to exist altogether, or _didn't you know that so-and-so wanted more of that treacle tart you were holding_. It would usually be accompanied by various degrees of exasperated, incredulous or disappointed sighs.

But somehow, Ron has an uncanny habit of seeing what others don't see. Or, at least, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which basically equates to the same thing, anyway, at least to Ron's convoluted mind.

And this is how he ended up here.

~*~

The day they return for their Eighth Year, Ron meets Harry and Hermione at the station. Hermione's already there, saying her goodbyes at the entrance, when Ron arrives with Harry and the rest of the Weasley family in tow. Hermione's parents look no worse for wear from their brief stint in Australia.

Harry mumbles something about finding a good seat, and sneaks up the train first, leaving Ron to endure the endless farewells with the rest of his family. Somehow, the annual Weasley farewells at Platform 9¾s never become any less emotional for Molly, despite the fact that her youngest child is already in Seventh Year.

Finally escaping the endless hugs, Ron firmly extricates himself from his mother's clinging arms. "I'll remember to write, Mum," he promises.

For a moment, Molly Weasley forgets to be weepy, and looks enraged instead. "Don't you try to pull that one on me, Ron Weasley. The last time you said that, I didn't receive a _single_ letter from you for the whole term. When have I ever raised you to be so—"

The whistle blows. Ron makes use of the moment of distraction to hurriedly say, "Sorry can't stay to chat, Mum, have to run," and flees up the train, leaving his mother's outrage safely behind.

He has to spend quite a while searching for Harry, who seems to have disappeared. He's on the verge of deciding whether he has the courage to knock on the Prefects' carriage and interrupt Hermione (who is in the middle of an impassioned speech about the appropriate use of the Prefects' bathroom, even though she is no longer Head Girl this year) when his attention is diverted by the loud bang of a door slamming open. Harry stumbles out of what appears to be the luggage compartment.

"Harry?" Ron starts, "What are you doing—Malfoy!"

Harry looks thunderstruck for a moment, as though he doesn't realise Malfoy is coolly making his way out of the same storage room Harry has just emerged from.

"Doing... Malfoy?" Harry squeaks, voice going slightly high-pitched at the end. "What do you mean?"

Ron takes stock of Harry's flushed face, dishevelled hair and untidy clothes. He stares at Malfoy's very slightly crooked tie, and where his shirt is slightly crumpled in the front of his chest, as though someone has been grabbing it in his fist.

Ron's mind snaps to the obvious conclusion, and he sinks into defensive mode. "Malfoy," he growls, making a move towards the ferret. "What did you do to Harry?"

"Weasley," Malfoy greets, smoothly sidestepping Ron and making his way back up the train. Ron is gobsmacked at his lack of antagonism, and hesitates, glancing at Harry. But Harry is busy watching Malfoy go.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron asks cautiously. He doesn't quite know what to make of Malfoy's imperturbable calm, or Harry's sudden inability to look away from Malfoy's arse.

Harry jerks his head towards Ron, and his mouth opens as though to answer, but then decides against it.

"Come on then," Harry mutters instead, and drags a bewildered Ron to an empty compartment.

When Hermione joins them, she talks more than enough for all three of them, and doesn't seem to notice that Harry is quieter than usual. Ron makes encouraging noises at appropriate pauses, though his mind is working furiously to figure out what's wrong with Harry. Is he ailing? Or having wild flashbacks to the war? Does he just miss Molly Weasley's mince pies?

For the rest of the journey, Harry looks restlessly out of the train window, and fidgets endlessly with the frayed ends of his jumper.

~*~

When they reach the Great Hall, Hermione is still barely scraping the tip of the mountain of things she intends to do in Eighth Year, and the projects she has decided Ron and Harry would take part in alongside her. Ron's finding it hard to focus now that they're nearing the dining tables and the _food_ —

"Ron! Are you listening to me?"

Ron snaps to attention, then realises with profound gratefulness that the first years are about to be sorted. "Shh, Hermione. They're about to begin the ceremony." Hermione falls silence in deference to the usual beginning of year speech, and is soon enraptured by McGonagall's rendition of Dumbledore's speech.

He sighs contentedly, and turns, intending to exchange a knowing smirk with Harry, but Harry's not looking in his direction. Or in the direction of McGonagall, who is still speaking with passion, or any of the Gryffindors, or even on the spread of food in front of him. Harry's eyes are locked with Malfoy's, holding his gaze unblinkingly across the Great Hall.

Ron stifles a mental groan. Hasn't Harry outgrown this already? Like some time over the summer, when he went to "be the bigger man" and return Malfoy's wand? Of course, he didn't return until late evening, even though he left in the morning, and there's no saying what sort of blows they could have come to during that time...

"—and inter-House unity." McGonagall finishes her speech, to rousing applause from hungry students who have been kept away from their dinner for too long.

Harry's eyes are still fixed on Malfoy.

"Ooh, look—treacle tart!" Ron shouts desperately. It does the trick, and Ron smiles with satisfaction as Harry remembers that he hasn't eaten anything on the train.

"Oh wow, this is good," says Harry, stuffing his face.

"Harry, slow down, you'll choke."

Long after Harry turns away, Ron watches Malfoy's eyes linger on Harry's form.

~*~

On the first night back, the Gryffindor common room is utterly silent, except for the sound of bedsprings periodically creaking somewhere up in the Eighth Years dorm.

A mouse scuttles across the ground of the common room, in search of food, but pauses momentarily at a particularly loud creak, and the ensuing grunt and groan would make the Fat Lady blush if she heard it.

Upstairs, Ron is fitfully turning on his bed, shifting restlessly from one side to the other, his bed protesting at every thump. In his stomach, he can feel the extra helping of steak and kidney pie churning cheerfully with his pumpkin juice and treacle tart. Perhaps he should have thought twice before helping himself to the extras.

Harry ate almost as much as he did, he remembers. Once he tore his eyes away from Malfoy, and was helpfully reminded that he hadn't eaten anything on the train.

"Harry!" he whispers. "Are you still awake?"

Ron shuffles over to Harry's bed, and hesitates briefly before drawing back the curtains.

Harry's bed is empty.

~*~

Harry's still not there in the morning, and when he doesn't show up for breakfast, Ron wonders if he should be panicking. He packs him breakfast instead.

Hermione spies him in the midst of furtively divesting the table of its goods. "Is that for Harry? Is he skipping breakfast to sleep in again?"

"Er, yeah, you know," Ron says vaguely. "Says he'll see us at class." He puts all his concentration into slathering butter and strawberry jam onto slices of toast, so that Hermione won't see his guilty expression, and hopes he isn't dooming his best friend by keeping his mouth shut.

Their first class is Care of Magical Creatures. Somehow, Hagrid has caught wind of a blood-sucking bugbear choosing the Forbidden Forest as its hibernation ground, and of course, thinks it would be a fabulous idea if the Eighth Years have their very first lesson there.

Ron watches Harry with a mixture of relief and suspicion as he stumbles in, late for class. His uniform is rumpled, and he looks like he barely had enough time to wash his face.

"Where have you been?" Ron hisses, pushing the toast into Harry's hands. "Did you have insomnia again last night?" Harry's stammered reply is abruptly interrupted by a familiar drawl.

"Late for your very first class, Potter?" Malfoy sneers.

"I just didn't want to seem too eager to see your face," Harry snaps back.

"Oh? You didn't seem to have a problem when you were staring holes into me—"

"Who's staring at who, then, I should like to know—"

Resignedly, Ron thinks that Malfoy will always be able to bring out the inner ten-year-old in Harry.

"All righ' everyone," Hagrid says, bearing down on the group of waiting students. "Pair up, then. We'll be spreadin' out and searchin' for his hibernation spot separately, shouldn' be hard to find. Jus' look for the trees big enough to have 'em some hollows in 'em..."

It's then that Ron notices that Malfoy is the only Slytherin in their class. Why did Malfoy take Care of Magical Creatures anyway? Surely he isn't planning to become an Auror? Or, Merlin forbid, a Hitwizard?

As the whispering and speculation starts around the class, Malfoy's chin lifts and his posture stiffens. So much for McGonagall's speech on inter-House unity.

Hagrid looks uncomfortable at the silent standoff in his class. "Er, Harry, yeh wouldn' mind if..." He tilts his head meaningfully at Malfoy, who pretends not to notice this exchange.

Harry catches on, and casts a contrite look at Ron and Hermione. "Of course, Hagrid." Strangely enough, for all their antagonism at the start of class, there's a distinct lack of hostility as Harry takes his place next to Malfoy.

Huh. Such stark contrast to that one time in fifth year when they were forced to be potions partners in Snape's class. There was an argument (there was always an argument with those two), over something that was probably as trivial as who should be the one to pluck the leaves of the sneezewort. It quickly dissolved into shouting, punching, kicking, overturned cauldrons and explosions, which resulted in most of the fifth years spending a sleepless night in the infirmary. The Gryffindors and Slytherins had to be given separate rooms—and still, the tension between the Houses was at a boiling point, with Harry and Malfoy's mutinous looks leading the pack. Ron sighs with fondness, remembering the black eye he'd gifted Goyle with.

Now, however...

Now Harry is standing just a bit too close to Malfoy, close enough for their hands to bump, if Malfoy just shifted to the left a little. Malfoy's posture is relaxed, and his mouth moves as he presumably says something nasty to Harry. Ron squints at the two of them, trying to figure out why the position feels so familiar...

"Ron!" comes Hermione's exasperated voice. Ron startles and jerks into an upright position. "If we don't get a move on, we won't make it back in time for Charms!"

Shooting one last look at where Harry and Malfoy are walking into the forest, Ron allows himself to be dragged away in a different direction by Hermione.

It's late when Ron and Hermione finally get back, having narrowly missed a few near-death encounters with some of the nastier inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest, including the acromantulas, who have an uncanny habit of knowing when Ron is visiting, and come out in full force to welcome him.

"Remind me again why we're taking Care of Magical Creatures again this year," Ron moans, as they shakily approach Hagrid's hut.

"I know why _I'm_ taking it; I've no idea why you've decided to subject yourself to it again." Hermione's voice is unsympathetic.

Ron sinks into a half-crouch midway as the dizziness from his fright and exhaustion takes over. "I knew we shouldn't have come back for this year," Ron says, addressing the tops of his knees. The world spins uncontrollably when he's upright, and the view looks better upside down, anyway.

"Oh come on, Ron. You know we need those N.E.W.T.s if we're ever thinking of working in the Ministry," Hermione chides, but even she is looking a bit pale.

"Could you go ahead and let Hagrid know we're back?" Ron mumbles, crawling to lean against a shady tree. "I'll wait here until I feel human again."

As Hermione leaves to thump on Hagrid's door, Ron works on cautiously lifting his head, trying to control the feeling of vertigo. Absently, he looks around, wondering if anyone's still searching for hibernating bugbears, or if they're the last ones back.

His attention is caught by a hissed remark from behind, and Ron squirms around, trying to see, but he's blocked by the girth of his tree.

"Stop. Don't do this here, anyone could see." 

A laugh. Ron immediately places it as Harry's. "I'm not _doing_ anything, Malfoy. Don't be so sensitive."

"You won't be saying that when your friends find out." The voice—Malfoy's?—is rueful.

"Hey, come on," Harry coaxes, and Ron just _knows_ he's doing his puppy-dog expression. "I like you, and I know they'll like you too, if you just gave them a chance."

"Sure," Malfoy mutters darkly, "if they don't rip me apart first."

The footsteps move away, with Harry and Malfoy still arguing.

Ron is thunderstruck. Harry and Malfoy—friends? When did it happen? His thoughts are cut short when Hermione returns, clattering noisily down the path.

"All right!" Hermione exclaims, and realises that Ron is still frozen in the place she left him. She heads over to heft him to his feet. "It's done; we can head back to the castle now." 

Ron nods dumbly at her, and she peers more closely at him. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, er, nothing. Let's head back then."

~*~

Ron barely has a chance to exchange a word with Harry for the rest of the day. After their eventful session in the morning, they've been rushing from lesson to lesson, still getting the hang of going for classes again. They've just parted ways for their next period; Ron has Quidditch training, and Harry has a break.

He's been planning to tell Harry about his accidental eavesdropping. He's not sure if he should be warning Harry off the evil ferret, or to suggest if they should start inviting Malfoy to hang out with them. Ron gets the sudden mental image of Malfoy cordially sitting down with them in the library, quill in his hand, politely discussing homework questions with Hermione, and asking Ron if he could "please pass him one of the blank scrolls; thank you, Ron." His brain shudders and shuts down, refusing to process that image. Maybe he could hold off on the invitation until Harry was absolutely _sure_ that Malfoy needed to be with them at all times of the day. 

Still, he could try talking to the ferret. If that's what Harry would like. Ron supposes there could be worse things in life.

He's passing by the Charms classroom when he hears an odd thump, and then a muffled crash, like books falling to the floor. Never one to back down from a mystery, Ron pops his head in, intending to tell off whoever's making the racket, when the words die in his throat. 

Ron sees something he will forever wish he could unsee.

Malfoy's bent carefully back over the table, legs parted and bracketed around Harry. His hair is as disheveled as Ron's ever seen it, messy from where Harry's threading his fingers through it. Harry is leaning over Malfoy, pressed up flush against him, and busy snogging the daylights out of him. Off the side of the table, a stack of textbooks lies topped on the floor.

Ron watches in horror as Harry smoothly snakes one questing hand under Malfoy's school shirt, which has somehow become unbuttoned and untucked in the proceedings, all the while still nipping gently at Malfoy's lips. Malfoy lets out a low moan of approval.

"Oh my god!" Ron blurts out, before it gets worse.

Both boys spring away from each other like they've been burnt. Ron certainly feels like he has been. His mind races as he thinks back to all the other times he's seen them together, only this time, with helpful edits and subtitles provided as to what they probably were doing instead.

"Merlin's pants," Ron croaks faintly. Or, at least, he thinks that's what he says. It probably comes out closer to a "grrrnh."

Malfoy is the first to recover. "Weasley," he says, inclining his head at where Ron is standing, doing his best impression of a beached Plimpy. Malfoy slides off the table, face blank and impassive, as though he regularly gets caught snogging his enemy in empty classrooms. He smoothly buttons up his uniform, and then stoops to pick up his Slytherin tie from where it is lying discarded on the floor. Malfoy's about to leave the room, when he hesitates, and turns back to Harry.

"I'll see you later, Harry?" he says, and it's not a tone Ron has ever heard Malfoy use before. It's quiet and full of tenderness; just this side of tentative and hopeful, as though he's afraid that Harry might turn him down. All thoughts of evil conniving ferrets flee his brain, and Ron gives them up mournfully.

In the same second that Malfoy speaks, Harry's expression goes from wary to besotted. "Of course," his best friend says breathlessly. "See you later. I'll owl you." 

Ron is quite sure that if he weren’t there, he would have tried to sneak in another snog. He manfully restrains himself from rolling his eyes at Harry. After all, _he_ wasn't like this around Hermione. Not in the least.

The door shuts quietly behind Malfoy.

Ron is furiously evaluating his options. Should he be outraged and throw a hissy fit? Should he be hurt and depressed that Harry never told him? Should he crack a joke and laugh that he'd seen it coming the whole time, haha, knew you'd be the last one on the bus?

Whatever it is, it's clear that he should stop gaping at Harry.

Who has probably been waiting for a minute, now.

"So what's going on?" Ron inquires bracingly, aiming for 'good old dependable buddy'.

Harry watches him carefully. "So. I'm involved with Draco."

Ron's brain convulses briefly at Harry's use of Malfoy's given name, but he bravely overcomes it without missing a beat. "That's great!" he exclaims, hoping to reassure. After the words leave his mouth, Ron cringes. Perhaps it came out a little too resoundingly.

The relief on Harry's face stops Ron from taking back his words. "You don't mind? I mean, this," and he gestures wildly (possibly indicating his state of undress, Ron's mismatched socks, or the entire Charms classroom; Ron can't be entirely sure), "was really not how I was hoping for you to find out."

"Well, it _was_ a bit of a shock," Ron says, gamely making the understatement of the year. "I mean—" he says, backpedaling, "it needs some getting used to. After all, you've been enemies for so long."

"Not enemies," Harry says, flushing red. Ron makes a disbelieving face at him. "Well, not really. I just had, er—really strong emotions towards him."

Ron's face is starting to match Harry's in the same brilliant shade of red, as his brain helpfully churns out some examples of what 'strong emotions' might entail. "That's great! Really great," Ron repeats, before Harry decides to elaborate. "Strong emotions, of course."

The two boys stare at each other, not sure what else to say.

"When did it start?" Ron blurts out.

Harry plucks at his jumper, a nervous habit. "Over the summer, actually. You remember when I went to the Manor to return his wand?" 

Ron does. It was after the trials, after Harry had interceded for Draco and his mother. Harry had been tense and apprehensive that morning, before he just decided to grit his teeth and head over to the Manor. He returned only at nightfall, and it was only the fact that his hand on the Weasley clock had him pointed firmly to _Happily Eating_ that prevented a battalion of Weasleys descending on Malfoy Manor.

"I hadn't expected anything from that meeting," Harry continues, "just a quick in and out. But then he started talking, and thanked me for rescuing him that day, and then he apologised for almost killing Dumbledore, and I apologised for almost killing him..." Harry huffs out a small laugh. "It was utterly draining and exhausting; it was a good thing the dining table was kept well-stocked with food, thanks to all the House Elves—don't tell Hermione that though..."

"You were gone so frequently after that," Ron remembers. "I thought you were busy mourning your ghosts."

"I was, at first," Harry says. "But then he reminded me that I'm living, and they're not. And he makes me feel alive." Harry looks simultaneously defiant, smitten, and embarrassed as hell.

There's a silence as Ron contemplates this statement. He manages it for about ten seconds before his brain twists it into something completely different. He coughs loudly to clear his mind. 

"Well, then," Ron says, patting invisible dust out of his trouser legs, trying valiantly to distract himself from improper thoughts of Harry and Malfoy _getting it on_. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Harry looks exceedingly grateful that it's over. "Yes, me too."

Before they leave, Ron gives in to an impulse and grabs Harry into a hug. "You know you'll always have Hermione and me." He swallows hard, and confesses, "But you can have him too if he makes you happy, we'll have to learn to share you."

They're about to head out of the classroom when Ron is suddenly struck with a terrible idea. 

"Wait—does this mean we have to start hanging out with him?" he says, grabbing Harry's arm desperately. "I'm not entirely sure we can do that without someone getting terribly offended within the first ten minutes or something—"

Harry's sudden smile is blinding. "But at least you're willing to try."

Ron watches Harry's face shines happier than he's seen him in years. Deep in his heart, he knows that Harry's found something, and he's glad for his best friend. Harry deserves a bit of joy in his life, for once.

And anyway, Ron can't wait to see Hermione's face when she finds out.

~*~

Harry's begged off their usual Hogsmeade date. When he stammers out that he'll be going to Hogsmeade with someone else, Ron turns away, so that he doesn't give anything away. Hermione is simultaneously offended at the brush-off and insatiably curious at who his date is, and why she hasn't heard wind of this since the start of term.

Outside the Three Broomsticks, Hermione pauses in the midst of her tirade to gape at Harry walking past, hand in hand with Draco. Harry's blushing but determined, and Draco has eyes only for Harry. Even Ron can see that they're madly in love.

"Ron," Hermione says, very calmly, which means she's about two seconds away from hysteria. "Tell me what I'm seeing."

Ron feels very proud of his self-control as he steers Hermione away. "Well, you know what they say, Hermione. New year, new surprises."


End file.
